A Face of Shiv


A joy that springs forth is creation,
To be, to reign, a glory, beauty,
Does death have a beauty?
And dreams are built, dwelt upon.

Seeming to live, in the moments of death,
Or seeming to die, in the moments of life,
Toss the coin, which face is it,
Shakti- creation, or Shiv- Death.

Trying to live, or searching for death,
To die and die again, every moment, every minute,
A beginning new, or a beauty blooming,
A balance be it, or a quest, perhaps rejuvenation.

As a spa does the works, death refreshes,
Renewal of life, a continuation of desire,
Rebirth, growth, maturity, old age, a cycle new,
For desire is Shakti, the first pulsation of Shiv.

Where angels dread to walk,
For Shiv sits there laughing,
A dance of destruction he does,
Feel the pulsation of violence.

A rage within swells,
A bloated pride, an ego; shattered,
Pain, fire, death, destruction follows,
For death is a face of Shiv.

To destruct, ground zero, swept clean,
To build anew, as the architect would,
For decay needs destruction and death,
Shattered, broken, pound, leveled to earth.

Moments of life, seemingly safe, content,
Caves of security, flow of habits,
A comma death is, rebirth continuity,
Change and evolution are the compassion of Shiv.


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